


We Won't Throw in the Towel Just Yet

by HermioneSpencer



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/M, Here he is as a better person, I needed to fix Donnie, kind of a fix-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7180607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneSpencer/pseuds/HermioneSpencer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donnie redeems himself... slightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Won't Throw in the Towel Just Yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roaringfaith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roaringfaith/gifts).



> Dear Reader,
> 
> I was given a prompt, and whilst I haven't quite followed it exactly, here it is: "A moment in which Alison allows Donnie to comfort her, where she allows his touch."  
> I think we may all kinda know that... Donnie is a bit of a wasteman. I got fed up with him being such an ignorant fool that I had to redeem him. I don't even know what the heck was wrong with him in that most recent episode.  
> It's 500 words - it was either 500 or 1,000 and I was lazy ;) - and this is what I came up with! I hope you like it.
> 
> HermioneSpencer

Finally untied from his bonds, Donnie shakily gets back up onto his feet, staring wide-eyed at the body with the arrow through its throat that lies on the floor of his basement, almost unable to take his eyes off it.

Helena pats his back with the strength of a giant, knocking him forward towards his wife, who stands beside the body, a hand over her mouth.

“There, Donnie Hendrick.  No spit for you.”  He turns back to Helena, thanking her profusely yet distantly.  She had saved Alison, and he had yet again been unable to do so himself.  He stumps over to his wife, who still has the spray of blood coating her face.

“Come on, honey, let me clean you up a little,” he says, gently taking her hand and pulling her upstairs to his kitchen.  Helena stays in the basement, removing the body.

He runs the hot tap until it steams, and wets a flannel.  It burns his hand, but he doesn’t register it until he has already moved it away from the tap.  Wringing the fabric in his hands, he strangles it until he is sure Alison will be satisfied.  She always tells him off when he brings still dripping cloths to her to wipe the table down when they have finished dinner.

He turns to his wife, who sits, shaking, on the stool he had prepared for her. 

Gently, he raises a hand to the back of her neck, possibly too hard for her liking, but Donnie doesn’t really know any better.

He wipes the splatter between her eyebrows first, lifting her fringe up a little, the flannel turning bright red.

She whimpers at the sight of it, but Donnie strokes the nape of her neck with his thumb.

“I haven’t taken very good care of you recently, Ali… everything I have done has put you and our family in danger, and I’m sorry.  The drugs, Pouchy, the police, prison…”  He wipes the blood off her cheek now, keeping the touch soft.  Alison looks at him, shivering still, but listening.  “Ali… the night I shot Leekie… he told me that he gave you to me as a wife, that I never earnt you by merit.”  He wipes the blood off her nose and lips.  “I mean, I would hope that you married me because you love me, but… I think that I’ve struggled with that.”  He wipes the last of the blood off her chin.  He retrieves a dry flannel and gently dabs it on her damp face, drying it.  “I love you, Ali, and I need to know that you married me for _me_ , not because… Leekie made me his pawn.  I’m sorry that I’ve been… forceful… but… I don’t wanna lose you, honey.  I wanna know that you’re mine, and I’ve tried to convince myself these past months, but… I need to know it from you.  That… you _wanna_ be mine-”

Ali leans into his hand and kisses it softly.

“I love you, Donnie.”


End file.
